Page 23 of Santa's Girl
“Some of the brothers play.” He pointed. “That’s Wrench on bass, Doc on drums, and Tuck on guitar.”
“And her?”
He smiled, slow and knowing. “That’s Sable.”
“She’s… incredible,” I said, watching the way she moved—confident, magnetic. The sound of her voice filled every corner of the room. “Who is she?”
Jinx’s grin faded a little. “Trouble.”
The beer was doing its job.
Warmth spread through me, soft at the edges. The music thumped in my chest, the singer’s voice rough but smooth, the bass vibrating through the soles of my borrowed boots.
For the first time in months, I didn’t care who was watching.
No Huntley.
No job to impress.
No polite small-talk smile.
Here, nobody knew me. I could be whoever I wanted.
I whooped when Jinx pulled me toward the floor, spinning me once before the crowd swallowed us. People were laughing, dancing, clapping to the beat. I laughed too—loud, unguarded, the sound startling even to my own ears.
I forgot about the snow, the wreck, the miles between me and Charlotte. I was just a girl dancing in a smoky clubhouse under strings of yellow bulbs, hair sticking to my cheeks, heart hammering in time with the drums.
When the song changed, Jinx leaned close. “Back in a minute. Gotta handle something.”
“Go,” I said, still laughing. “I’ll survive.”
He disappeared into the crowd. I was turning to grab my drink when another body moved in behind me—close, confident.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, smelled like mint and something sweet, like sugar cookies fresh out of an oven. His beard brushed the side of my neck, tickling enough to make me laugh.
He chuckled too, low and easy, hands sliding to my waist, guiding me back into the rhythm.
The warmth of him seeped through my sweater. His thigh pressed against mine in time with the beat, solid and sure. My pulse kicked up.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment the universe stopped laughing at me.
I could get used to this—the music, the lights, this stranger who made me feel wanted again. I could imagine snowed-in nights, fireplaces, selfies, stories that didn’t end in heartbreak.
His breath skimmed my skin. He bent closer, lips tracing the edge of my jaw?—
“Brother. A word.”
The voice came from behind us—deep, unamused, unmistakable.
The man stiffened. I turned.
Bear stood there, beer in hand, eyes flat and unreadable, jaw tight enough to crack stone.
He wasn’t here to dance.
He was here to end it.
The song kept rolling, drums heavy, the bass thrumming right through my ribs—but everything around me slowed.
